


5 Things Daryl Dixon Will Never Admit

by doctor_hemlock



Category: The Walking Dead (TV Series)
Genre: Descriptions of sexual acts, F/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 10:00:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22471150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor_hemlock/pseuds/doctor_hemlock
Summary: There are five things Daryl Dixon would never admit to, even if you killed him.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Reader
Kudos: 26





	5 Things Daryl Dixon Will Never Admit

1\. He loves dancing.  
(Y/N) loved the fact that there was no shortage of vinyl records and CD’s lying around Alexandria. And their house just so happened to have a record player.  
Daryl complained constantly about her ‘noise’, as she had music on a decent bit of the time. Whether it was Roy Orbison, or Lenny Kravitz, Elvis Presley, Nirvana, Billie Holiday, or anyone in between. Even that new age crap he couldn’t stand that she very seldom played, she always had something on. More often than not he’d come in after hunting to clean up a bit and she’d be swaying to some crooner, in her underwear and a shirt in the mornings, after she’d come in from a particularly stressful run, or when she was feeling anything strongly enough.  
Daryl always managed to mumble some complaint as he left, but it grew on him. Just as she had throughout the years. After he’d confirmed her feelings when he kissed her on the porch, though, he started to seem to like it. Rock was obviously his choice, but oftentimes he found himself whistling other songs. ‘Crazy He Calls Me’, ‘Crying’, ‘Are You Lonesome Tonight?’, among others. Rick commented on it when he was whistling ‘Something in My Heart’ by Ricky Skaggs.  
“You been listenin’ to old country? I haven’t heard that one in years. I never would’ve pegged you for that.”  
Daryl’s face flushed, and he murmured back. “(Y/N) listens to a lot of old music. Guess I been listenin’ more than I thought.”  
Rick just laughed and clapped him on the back.  
“That’s how it is, brother. Bein’ attached to someone makes you do things you’d never thought you’d do. I never thought I’d be memorizing recipes or morning rituals that Lori liked, but before I knew it, I had Carl in the kitchen every Sunday for these god awful pancakes she insisted on making. It’s how it is.”  
One evening when (Y/N) came in from helping Rosita out in the infirmary, Daryl had her favorite Etta James record playing. He left the kitchen to meet her in the living room, taking her hand in his wordlessly as her shocked expression watched his cunning eyes with numerous questions. But she waited, and he led her out onto the floor. ‘A Sunday Kind of Love’ began to drift through the fading sunlight cutting into the room.  
Carefully, he slid his other hand to her waist, and lifted the hand he held. Gently, he began to lead her as they swayed around the room. “Well, Mr. Dixon. I never would’ve thought you a dancer.” Her voice was playful, but overjoyed at his gesture.  
“There’s a lot you wouldn’t think about me. I used to hate this kind of stuff, but I guess you may have rubbed off on me a little.”  
Leaning down, he kissed her deeply before breaking away to spin and dip her. She squealed in shock and delight as he brought her back in.  
He laid his head on her shoulder, and she rested hers on his chest as they moved back and forth.  
Dancing became a rare but more regular routine of theirs. And sometimes (Y/N) caught him swaying in the kitchen or hallway as she danced openly.  
2\. He loves to be held.  
Daryl and (Y/N) have been sleeping next to each other for years now.  
It began when they were camping out at Hershel’s farm, long before Glenn and Maggie had married. She noticed that he was set up away from the others in their group at the time, and brought her makeshift bedroll over to his.  
Naturally he’d told her to scram, but didn’t force her. Instead, she stayed. Even when Daryl would sit in silence or even ignore her, she remained in her place. It, like all things about her, grew on him. So even when they moved into Alexandria, he unofficially and gradually moved into her house, and began sleeping in bed with her. Platonically.  
They’d lay on their sides turned from each other at first, but she’d always shift and lay on her stomach or other side facing him. For the most part, they remained on their own side. But as they grew closer, he’d wake in the wee hours before she’d get up to watch the sun rise to find her on his chest, snoring softly.  
Initially he would move her back onto her side to avoid embarrassment on both parts. As he began to realize just how much he wanted her, he would let her stay longer and longer. Sometimes wrap his strong arm around her and pull her closer, just for her to murmur sleepily and cuddle closer.  
Even then, she’d lay on their loveseat and play with his hair when she read a book and he ‘napped’ as he laid between her legs, on her soft chest. Some days she could tell he needed it, and on those he couldn’t fight. And then he began to crave more.  
(Y/N) was the only one he’d really touch, and he’d allow to touch him. He’d rub her back in the evenings before bed, sometimes let her lay against him in the same way, between his legs, when she was having a bad night. They’d press their foreheads together before going on any run outside Alexandria.  
After their relationship became official, Daryl was much more open about his affection towards her. She’d sit in his lap when they watched the sun rise together, lay her head on his shoulder when they were on watch, trace his back and shoulders mindlessly in bed. He’d rub circles in her thighs when she wore shorts, draw delicate patterns with feather light fingers across her naked skin, and almost always had a hand on her if they were out somewhere.  
Whether it was a hand on the small of her back, an arm around her shoulders, or his fingers laced with hers, he always wanted to be touching her.  
3\. He loves making love (and not just having sex).  
Their first kiss had almost set Daryl on fire.  
Plenty of times before that, he’d imagined her in numerous situations. After all, he slept next to her nearly every night, her often in her underwear and an oversized shirt, had seen her in every condition for years, and was clearly madly in love with her.  
But after the first tentative brush of their lips, he couldn’t get enough of her. Their first time was on the floor in the kitchen.  
She was cooking something for them. That day she’d pulled her short hair back, a few curls fell at the nape of her neck, and she was wearing one of his t-shirts and those orange shorts he loved on her. Daryl had come in after a day of hunting, and went straight up to shower.  
He’d come behind her with dripping hair, shirtless. Pressed against her perfect, petite body, hands gripping her hips as he began to press fervent kisses against the soft skin of her neck. The little gasp she’d emitted drove him further, hands beginning to roam further until they reached her breasts. Kneading them gently, she moaned softly. A high-pitched, beautiful sound that made him almost cum in his pants.  
At that point he’d pushed the food from the burner, turning her around and pushing her into the kitchen counter. His mouth attacked hers, hands slipping beneath her shirt as hers grazed his bare skin, clawing into his back as he bit her lip sharply. Breaking away suddenly, he stared at her.  
“Do you want this?” he murmured, almost shy. His eyes went to the marks he’d already left on her neck, her flushed cheeks, and dilated pupils. Instead of replying, she nodded as she tugged him back to her.  
After that, he couldn’t keep himself away. Sucking on her neck, marking her, tasting her in the most intimate way, everything turned him on. Often times if he came in as she was showering, he’d fuck her against the wall with a hand against her throat.  
And while most would see him as a voracious, rough lover, he could be soft, too.  
Making love to her in bed, in the woods, anywhere, had to be his favorite. Taking his time to edge her before sliding in, seeing her eyes widen as she expects a rapid, brutal pace, and is surprised as he moves slowly, watching every expression she makes. Dragging his mouth and hands over every inch of her body, whispering things in her ear he’d never thought he’d say to another human, and his chest swelling with how much he adores this human when she comes undone around him. It was bliss.  
They were lucky for a while, at least. Until her arm began to swell and she got sick due to her IUD running over its expiration date and they had to perform an emergency operation. But that didn’t stop Daryl’s appetite. Instead, it made it stronger.  
But he’d never had anyone he loved so much he wanted them all the time, in every way. He couldn’t help himself.  
4\. He loves the color blue.  
Daryl hadn’t really thought about favorites in a long time. But (Y/N) loved to pick his brain, so often that he wondered how she could ask so many damn questions.  
One day she was laying at the end of their bed, reading some book about the invention of Russia. Daryl sat sharpening his knife on his side, enjoying the simplicity of being together. All of a sudden, she leapt up with a yelp. Quickly he turned, knife at the ready.  
Instead of there being an enemy, she stood on the bed smiling brightly at him.  
“What the hell?” he asked.  
“Daryl! Light of my life, apple of my eye, I have a question of the utmost importance!”  
She had that impish gleam in her eye, and he set the knife on his bedside table. As soon as the weapon as out of his hands she jumped on him, straddling him and peppering his face with kisses.  
Daryl rolled his eyes, but loved every second. His hands went to her thighs, looking up at her as she pulled back with a tooth grin.  
“What’s your favorite color?”  
He was almost taken aback at the simplicity of this ‘important question’. At least he’d expected some question about his life before, about his family, something.  
But something so purely innocent and out of nowhere, he had been completely floored. She had a way of doing that, of keeping him on his toes in the most innocent ways.  
He genuinely pondered the question, and even made an exaggerated face for her amusement. God forbid anyone else see his face break his usual stoic scowl.  
“What do you think it is?” he asked, looking back to her.  
Her lip poked out as she began to think, staring at him with scrutiny. No one else had cared about his favorite anything, and this brilliant college girl that was years and years younger was trying to figure him out through and through.  
He’s almost sure she’d asked him this before, but he probably blew her off then.  
Finally, she answered.  
“Blue.”  
He looked up at her with an actual small, but genuine, smile.  
“Why’s that, sunflower? Not yellow? Green?”  
(Y/N) shrugged lightly.  
“Blue feels like you.“  
Daryl actually laughed. A throaty, hearty laugh. (Y/N) looked at him quizzically before she joined in, and soon enough he sat up, wrapping his arms around her.  
Leaning down, she pressed her lips to his forehead, brushing his hair out of the way.  
“I guess it does.”  
So blue was Daryl’s favorite color.  
5\. He wouldn’t mind a kid or two.  
“So, Daryl, when are you and (Y/N) gonna pop a few out? Heard about that nasty infection and her having to cut your only form of protection out.”  
Abraham was the one to ask, surprisingly. It was after finding out Maggie was pregnant, and (Y/N) had been spending hours trying to gather baby supplies. Formula, clothes, diapers, anything a baby could need. Not much of a secret, that she loved kids.  
Daryl was taken aback by this. It felt like a pile of bricks knocked any viable answer out of his head. He hadn’t considered it too much, at least not actively. Of course, he thought about it when making love to her. Maybe mulled the possibility over a few times when on patrol, or when hunting, or maybe when she was fast asleep next to him and he couldn’t stop looking at her.  
But he hadn’t expected anyone to actually ask the damn question. Of course Maggie’s announcement had brought his own considerations to the front of his mind. And possibly Daryl may have imagined what it could be like, the combination of their DNA running around in little boots with fire in its eyes and a darling grin. But the thoughts of Lori and how she’d died giving birth to Judith would always scare him back to reality. That he’d do anything to not lose (Y/N), that this world was so terrifying that he’d just about castrate himself to avoid bringing someone else into it.  
Daryl wouldn’t ever admit it, but every time he held Judith lately, he wished it was their baby he was holding.  
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, he thought. Having a baby with (Y/N)’s wavy hair and smile, maybe his eyes (not that he’d mind hers), watching her grow into a mother, knowing he was a father. Knowing he had a family of his own to keep fighting for. Well, now that idea didn’t seem half bad.  
“Shut up man.” was all Daryl could manage, but Abraham could tell he didn’t mean it.  
The ginger man chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder.  
“Thinkin’ about it now, huh? Well. Between you and me, I think she’d be a helluva mother. You wouldn’t be a half bad daddy either.”  
He stood and walked off after seeing Sasha exit the infirmary.  
Kids. A wife. Family. Just food for thought...  
He saw (Y/N) emerge from the same building. She was in one of his flannels, draped over her oversized navy shirt and tight jeans. Looking up from her pack, she saw him and waved. Maggie trailed after her, and she blew a kiss towards him before following her in a different direction.  
Daryl exhaled. He had a lot to consider.


End file.
